


Everyday

by EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Depression, Drinking Tea, First Kiss, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, IronStrange, Life After Thanos, Loneliness, Lots of People Come Back To Life, M/M, Magical Artifacts, Matchmaking Cloak, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, depression symptoms, somewhat slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 03:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14685576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12/pseuds/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12
Summary: Tony Stark wants this to be over: Thanos, the Infinity Stones, the death, the pain, the loss....But even after they win, after those lost start to come back to them and the universe starts to recover, Tony Stark can feel the loneliness surging through him like a tide.He needs something. Someone. And there, materialized on a nearby piece of rubble, he finds him...





	Everyday

**Author's Note:**

> Ironstrange is end game, folks. Hoping for this to be 2-3 chapters similarly structured! 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy! Please R and R, let me know what you think!

He wanted to fall. To collapse to the ground and let the city repair itself as people continued to materialize around them, falling to the ground as weak legs could no longer support them or the pure, astonishing feeling of simply being. He wanted to stop this for just a few moments, to leave all of this, all of these people behind him and simply sleep until he could stop thinking. Stop remembering everything that had happened since his last conversation with Pepper in the park. Where was she? He hadn’t come back to her, had ignored what she wanted again and again and again. And she hadn’t come looking for him.

He watched as Bucky reappeared, Steve catching him before he could collapse to the ground. He wanted to smile, but instead, he simply sat on a chunk of debris, moving his leg so it wouldn’t’ be scraped against the rough-cut concrete. He could feel eyes on him: Thor, Bruce, Nat. But he was waiting, and they seemed to know. And then there, in front of him, within only a gentle stretch of his fingers, was Peter, still in his suit, falling towards him.

He caught him, awkwardly of course, in a half-collapsed hug, the boy dead weight in his arms for the first of a few moments that something finally felt real. Peter didn’t move off of him, letting Tony hold him there for a long few breaths until he pushed back, his eyes taking in everything from the people regenerating to Thanos’ corpse under the rubble of the building he had brought down with him.

“Hey, kid,” He said, looking up at Peter, who ran his hands through his hair wildly, twisting his fingers through the long strands in confusion, or perhaps in the thrill of being alive again, maybe at seeing him again.

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” He said finally, smiling out of the corner of his mouth. “I gotta find Aunt May.” He sounded apologetic, he was apologetic, Tony was sure, but he understood. He more than understood. He wished vaguely, that he had someone to go find. Someone to find him, even.

“I’ll talk to you soon, Peter.”

“Bye, Mr. Stark,” And then the mask was bag and he was webbing through New York like nothing had changed, people clapping as he zoomed overhead, swinging as fast as he could to Queens. Tony watched for a long time, other people starting to disperse, including the other Avengers, who were making their way towards Stark Tower in an unhurried fashion. There were wounds to heal between them, bruises to patch, cuts to heal as best they might, with only the hints of scars. He wanted to follow them, truly, but his legs felt as heavy as his mind. He needed a few more minutes, at least, to be in this space and not be met with some honorific obligation or bureaucratic agreements or awkward glances between him and Steve. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready.

He had thought that when everyone returned that his heart might not feel so heavy. That if they managed to save the world like this, this load would disappear. But this time was different. The weight of being a hero, the one celebrated and cheered for, but never asked about his feelings, about what he had endured, was finally heavy enough to keep him in place. Perhaps he was being selfish, he felt selfish. There were others who had lost so much more:  Peter Quill, for example, who was surrounded by the rest of his motley crew at the moment, wanting Gamora to materialize in front of him, even as they told him it was impossible. His sobs were loud, covered by the happy cries, by the noise of first responders coming, the surge and arrival of National Guard soldiers, but Tony could hear them.

At least Peter Quill wasn’t alone in that moment. Who had been with him when Peter had vanished into dust? When his remains had clung to his fingers as he had blown into the breeze on Titan? Who had been there with him as his parents were taken the first time? As Cap has left him, dying in the Siberian wild? Perhaps, he was realizing, he had always been alone. And only now, with the weight of loss still heavy on him, Peter’s reappearance only a slight reprieve before he, too, was gone again.

He looked up, seeing a happy family reunion in which every member appeared and collapsed in a heap on each other, laughing in amazed relief. But he saw another sight, a unexpectedly familiar one. Sitting, on the remains of a nearby building, was Doctor Stephen Strange, looking as though he had been through all seven layers of hell and had crawled in desperation back to the surface. The cloak was fussing over him, moving his head back and forth as the blood-smeared scratches there certainly needed tending.

Tony stood, the Doctor’s back to him, and started to hobble over. “If you really wanted to be helpful, you’d do something about my leg,” He heard the man say, and the cloak jerk back as if offended before wrapping itself around the man’s leg. He leaned his head back, eyes closed, and Tony could tell he was in pain, certainly physical, maybe more.

The last time he had seen the man played through in his mind, “ _Tony…there was no other way.”_

 _No other way. No other way. No other way._ The words played in his head over and over and over as he and Nebula had found their way back to Earth, made their way back to the fight. Perhaps Strange had been right. That was the only way. But if it was, the universe was a far crueler place than Tony Stark wanted to live in.

“Your buddy Wong not coming out for the meet and greet?” He sat down with a loud metal clanking, making him remember to retract his suit all the way. Strange’s eyes snapped open, his head swiveling around to look at Tony, who was now only a few feet away, legs dangling slightly where Strange’s reached all the way to the ground. But their pissing contest was certainly over, and he could guess that Strange was just as, if not more exhausted, than he was.

“Someone has to guard the Sanctum,” Strange said, his voice strained.

“Doesn’t sound particularly entertaining.” Tony responded, looking the other man over. He wondered vaguely if he could even walk, something was certainly wrong with his leg, and he doubted that the sorcerer supreme was as used to getting punched around as they were, and since he doubted that the thick tunic he was wearing doubled as armor, he had probably taken some serious damage.

To his surprise, the man laughed out loud, shaking his head which Tony swore had more white at the temples now. “I think I’ve had enough entertainment for a lifetime between Dormammu and Thanos.”

“Dormammu?”

“I’m going to hold off on answering that because I think you need to be sure you want to unlock my tragic backstory before I do, Stark.” It was Tony’s turn to laugh. It felt good. Or maybe it didn’t. Maybe it just didn’t hurt like everything else was at the moment.

“Tony.”

“What?”

“You gave up the time stone so Thanos wouldn’t blast me into bits. You can call me Tony.” There were a few beats of silence, a car alarm going off as a final straggler materialized onto the hood of a Nissan Altima.

“You should call me Stephen, then.” The sorcerer finally said.

“Steve?” The stare that Tony was met with was enough that he laughed again, moving to stand since he finally felt as though he might manage it. “Do you need help walking?”

Stephen Strange seemed to consider it for a moment, as if debating if he wanted to continue associating with Tony Stark at all, wanted to admit he needed help, or would be grateful for someone helping him. After a moment, he let out a long breath. “If you wouldn’t’ mind.” He reached out a long arm so that Tony could help lift him from his seat, the cloak wrap itself around both of their legs, stabilizing them together.

“If you think Wong can handle the Sanctum for a bit longer, I have medical supplies and help back at home.”

Another moment of hesitation. “Lead the way.”

 

 

Tony wasn’t sure what had changed. While Stark Tower had always been a place for the Avengers, it seemed now to teem with life during the day. With the return of Steve came others: Scott and his daughter who had been so excited to meet him that she had nearly screamed when he agreed to autograph her notebook, Nat who made sure to talk to him each time she came by, Sam who was in a constant state of discussion about tech upgrades for his own suit and other options for development, Thor who was spending a good deal more time with Bruce than before, and of course Cap himself, sometimes with Bucky in tow, sometimes not when Tony knew that Steve knew he was in a testy mood. He trusted himself not to say something, but things were far more tense.

He was entertaining some nighttime guests, there were nights when Peter would talk him into staying the night over, sometimes bringing a boy named Ned over who Tony thought had a very interesting habit of poking things that didn’t need to be poked, and once a girl named MJ who he had watched Peter stutter around until he had been forced to leave his own kitchen to save the awkward silence. It was almost cute. Almost. Once the coalition from Wakanda had come, Shuri to meet with Banner about some options for joint development in defense tech, and T’Challa who had spent a good deal of time talking to Tony himself.

But his own nights were spent largely alone. After Thanos’ death, as the rest of the universe was rejoicing, his pending marriage had disintegrated. He had left, and no matter the reason, she knew it would happen again. He had held her close as they ended things, had kissed her one last time and drowned the night in a bottle of whiskey he didn’t even know that he had purchased, and avoided all mentions of it on the news. It had been enough of a hassle to send wedding invitations, it was somehow far worse to send cancellation notices. If they missed someone, there would be far more explaining to do on this end. Not to mention the public spectacle, ranging from pregnancy rumors to adultery rumors to whatever else someone could conjure up including one story that suggested that Pepper had been in love with Thanos himself and resented Tony for his death. The world, despite being saved again, was still exhausting.

But he had begun having another guest. Technically two, if he counted the cloak which made its presence well known at nearly all times. Stephen Strange had told him it was fond of him, which Tony could tell after its first visits when it had turned his head from side to side, checking over the small cuts and bruises that were etched into the skin there from there fight. As those had faded, it had simply gone to affectionate bushes when Tony would pour Stephen a mug of tea.

After his initial visit, in which Tony’s various resources had been able to patch up his leg in record time, and he had been able to converse with the other Avengers, he had begun to come by more frequently. It was, at first, to speak about work related things. The need for more crossover for sorcerer training. The ability to guard against physical threats, especially for low-level sorcerers, the potential threat of Karl Mordu, who was certainly out there somewhere. But those conversations, while they still happened, had shifted to something that now bordered on personal. Personal interest at least, when it was discovered they had a shared weakness for single-malt whisky, late 1970’s David Bowie songs, kiwis, and a dozen other things that Tony could recall with ease.

He was here now, sipping a cup of tea that Tony did not and would not understand the appeal of. No matter how much honey he mixed into a cup, it never tasted like anything more than water filled with grass clippings, like he imagined mowing a lawn with ones teeth might taste, but Stephen was insistent that he drink tea over coffee or booze, though he did occasionally indulge. He never stayed long, citing the Sanctum’s protection as a reason to return when the conversation got too personal or the tea went cold with the long time spent between thinking of what to say.

Tony felt that in those moments, when he could say something and have it fired back at him in an instant, that he was thriving. An uncommon feeling now, one that used to come with each new industries announcement, with each upgrade to the suit, now happened here. When he was talking to Peter, when he was listening to Shuri and Banner talking about their upgrades, and when Stephen could fire quips at him as quickly as Tony could absorb them. It was smart conversation, not too inflated, but enough that he wanted to bask in it.

“Did you ever try your ice cream?”

“I don’t really like Hazelnuts.” He had answered. Which was true. Peter had insisted he try Nutella, and the taste had been so thick and rich that he would be happy never to eat a Hazelnut again in his life.

“You would think they would check those things first.”

“Are you jealous of my ice cream flavor?”

“The mystic arts don’t translate well to commercial industries.”

“Harry Potter begs to differ.” And Stephen Strange would smirk, every time he manged to best him.

Tony made sure to return the favor.

 

“So, I can’t touch this pot?” Tony walked with his hands behind his back, walking around the lobby of the Sanctum.

“The Cauldron of the Cosmos.” He looked over at Stephen, who’s eyebrows were raised so far, he thought they might disappear into his hairline.

“Right. Cauldron of the Cosmos.” He tapped the side of his head, “I’ll remember that one.”

“There are plenty of artifacts for you to accidentally touch upstairs,” Stephen sounded as though he might be regretting offering this tour, but Tony nodded enthusiastically, following the trailing cloak, which reached back its farthest corner to touch his hand gently as if guiding him up the stairs.

He pointed out the boots, staffs, handcuffs, shields, spears, and other artifacts that were protected parts of this Sanctum to Tony as they walked. “This is where the Cloak used to go.” He pointed to a case that no longer had glass on the outside.

“Do they attach themselves to people?” Tony asked, still not quite sure about all of this magic business. “Like pets.”

“All of the artifacts become associated with certain sorcerers. Some have more than one. When a sorcerer dies, they get returned to the Sanctum.”

“How did you get the cloak?”

“I was fighting a zealot named Kaecilius and the Cloak came to my rescue.” And Stephen started to recall the story, turning to Tony in the light of the Sanctum window that flooded the Santcum staircase with late evening light as he talked, recounting the story from motivations that Tony didn’t quite fully grasp to the death of Stephen’s first mentor to the fight here in the Sanctum.

He didn’t notice, until the Doctor’s words started to trail off that they were standing closer together. “Is that the tragic backstory you were telling me about?” Tony asked quietly.

“Not all of it,” Stephen said, but his eyes were moving between Tony’s eyes and his lips. “Thank you for listening anyway.”

“I’d like to know the rest of it sometime, if you were feeling up to sharing.”

“Tony Stark: billionaire, playboy, philanthropist…you don’t seem the type to enjoy sharing.” Stephen said.

Tony smirked, “Most people aren’t worth the time.”

And Tony closed his eyes as they kissed, taking his time walking back down the steps, letting the protection of Stark Tower be his excuse for leaving tonight, hoping Stephen didn’t miss the wink that accompanied that statement since he didn’t seem quite able to move from the top of the stairs.


End file.
